Frequently Flying A Pain In The Neck From Ticket To Tray Table To Terminal

COMMENTARY

August 7, 1995|JOAN BECK Chicago Tribune

Millions of us are starting our summer vacations folded, stapled and stuffed into too-small airline seats, tossed 2 cents worth of peanuts in lieu of mystery-meat meals, angry about bewildering fares and trying to suppress safety worries it's best not to think about before flying.

To the employee-cutting, plane-packing airlines, passengers have become just another cost to be controlled in a business that is now essentially cattle herding. Most of us are too cowed to complain. And financial analysts say airline profitability may be slowly improving.

The cattle-herd conditioning of today's passengers begins when you pick up a phone to try to buy a ticket. The time it takes to wait through the system's press-six-to-speak-to-a-live-person spiel and the on-hold musical mush is roughly equal to the flying time between Boston and Philadelphia.

"Your call is important to us. Don't hang up or you will lose your place in line," the automated voice purrs at irritating intervals. Your call, however, isn't important enough to justify hiring a few more people to answer the phones.

The live press-six person who finally consents to take your call will quote you an outrageously high price for a coach ticket. If you gulp and ask if there's anything cheaper, you'll get stream-of-consciousness muttering as she surfs through the computer and suggests that if you're a redhead, 65, with freckles you can take a 5:27 a.m. flight for $164 but only on the 31st of every month.

Or if you agree to pass out the peanuts and clean up the galley, there's a $229 special. But wait, that's been sold out since January. If you sign up for the airlines' choice of overnight accommodations, there's a $267 price, but only for Angus, Holsteins and Jerseys traveling in a group to a major market. You can't use frequent flyer miles because this is, as usual, a blackout period.

So you are stuck with a fare apparently set high enough to pay off part of the airline's corporate debt, take it or the plane will leave without you. You will know for sure that everyone else on your flight paid less for their ride than you did, stupid.

(Last week, I finally booked an O'Hare to LaGuardia flight after spending enough time on the phone to finish "The Rainmaker" and start on "Contract With America."When I called back an hour later to check a seat selection, two ticketers told me the computer had no record of my reservation, the flight I was on didn't operate on my flight day, it would cost $80 more for the correct ticket and if, by mistake, I was mailed both tickets, neither was refundable.) Airports are cleverly designed so the more stuff you have to schlep, the further you have to mush to your departure gate. If you must tote a toddler, a diaper bag, a doll, an overnight bag, a backpack and a laptop, you may have to walk a quarter of the way to your designation just to board your plane.

If you check your luggage, don't be surprised when the last bag to come around on the carousel in the baggage claim area at your destination isn't yours. Your bags have more frequent flyer miles than you do and they have probably taken off for Hawaii without you.

As you push sideways down the aisle that has been reduced to a width of about 10 inches and try to stow your carry-ons in the overhead bins, you'll always discover they are already full. Your fellow travelers appear to be using them in lieu of a U-haul truck and have stashed them not only with luggage but ski boots, pinatas, a saddle, a wedding bouquet, a lamp, car seats, strollers, bedding, snorkeling equipment and a kitchen sink.

Your stuff will have to go under the seat in front of you. That means not only that you won't be able to cross your legs in flight but also your feet won't even touch the floor unless you twist them sideways.

Your seat will probably measure 19 inches across, whether you do or not, and 28 to 30 inches from your seatback to the one ahead. (Many airlines have even thinned the seatbacks so as to fit more rows into the plane.) You'll have room to read a paperback but not a newspaper. When the passenger ahead of you reclines his seat, you may not be able even to find the delete button on your laptop or bend over enough to reach your briefcase on the floor.

You will have to time your response to calls of nature with precision. For much of your flight, the aisles will be impassable because flight attendants are peddling drinks in tippy little plastic cups and, increasingly rare these cost-conscious days, handing out ersatz food, usually something in a strange brown sauce, stale roll, tired salad and cardboard cookie.

Once the carts are out of the aisle, you probably won't be able to shoehorn your way to the restroom, especially if you're starting from a window seat, before the pilot turns on the fasten-seatbelt sign again. If you can make it to a restroom without an "occupied" sign, you'll find it was designed for a contortionist, is out of paper and soap, has dirty water in the basin and no place to put down even a comb. Whoever manages to change a baby's diaper on a plane deserves 100,000 frequent flyer miles.

Once the plane lands and passengers shove into the aisle to make their break up the cattle-shoot jetway to freedom, a flight attendant will chirp, "Have a nice day. And thank you for choosing our airline."What she means is "Thank you for putting up with a level of aggravation no other industry dares inflict on its customers."